


11:33

by strangeera



Series: You're alright [1]
Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeera/pseuds/strangeera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're outside the McDonald's on Elland Road and he's sitting beside me in his pretentious car that he thinks impresses me but actually doesn't; a Carphone Warehouse leaflet in one hand, fish burger in the other, banana milkshake in the drinks holder that divides us; and outside it's 11:33 and raining hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	11:33

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a series of vignettes detailing the eventual reconciliation. This has been edited a thousand times because it was, at first, just really dark – way too bleak, so I tweaked and added stuff and this is the result! Let me know what you think, and do try to get past the fact that this is written in first person. Personally I think it's a lot more organic and detailed, but whatever floats your boat! Thanks.

We're outside the McDonald's on Elland Road and he's sitting beside me in his pretentious car that he thinks impresses me but actually doesn't; a Carphone Warehouse leaflet in one hand, fish burger in the other, banana milkshake in the drinks holder that divides us; and outside it's 11:33 and raining hard. I'm feeling kind of agitated inside the car, kind of anxious, holding onto the “smurf blood” flavour vaporiser in my hand like it's a lifeline, thinking about the packet of prawn cocktail crisps in my jacket pocket and wishing I'd let him buy me something from McDonald's when he asked me earlier. I couldn't, though; in some spiteful way, my curt “no thanks” felt like absolutely the right thing to say at the time. I mean, the last thing I wanted was for him to think that maybe I owed him something, and for what, some fucking fish fingers and a Coke Zero? I wanted things to be more difficult than that, in a weird way, I dunno. I wanted to think I was worth more than that. I'm probably not.

 

The woman on the radio speaks first: the rain just won't let up. Yeah, no shit, I'm thinking, leaning my head back against the headrest and idly staring out of the window at the little blurs moving about. There's something about a dark grey sky that makes me feel good. As he eats the fish burger, and I suck on the vaporiser, the woman on the radio continues: a Great Deluge, to wash away our collective wickedness and began creation anew. Just kidding, some light flooding in more rural areas. 

 

Beyond the banana milkshake he turns to me and says: “thinking of going into town today, getting a new phone.” I'm rolling my eyes in a really subtle way, and then he says: “you up for it?” as I lift the vaporiser to my lips and inhale, then shrug. Then he says: “I wish you wouldn't smoke. Cuts your life expectancy in half.”

 

“I can't wait,” I say, without really thinking about it, “and besides, it's not even a real cigarette. Just chill out.” We've been sitting here for a while. The windows have clouded over and my legs have gone to sleep, and it's really warm inside the car, so I'm fidgeting, trying to regain the feeling in my legs, still thinking about the crisps in my pocket but if I eat them now he'll know I was hungry earlier, and I don't want to explain myself right now, so I suck on the vaporiser again and press my finger to the wet window, spell “hell” on the glass but change my mind, it's too much, I feel stupid, add an “o”. 

 

“Well anyway,” he says, and something in his voice sounds different, kind of dejected, I guess; like he wanted me to react in a totally different way? Thanks for your concern, but it's true, though – I'm not really smoking, and I don't understand how he thinks he can tell me what to do now, after everything, when I wouldn't even listen before either, when we were- we used to-, you know. “My iPhone battery is shit, now. The new Samsung looks good though, ey?” Fuck do I care, my phone is a Mars bar, I'm thinking, and he's looking over at me with wide blue eyes as I take another drag on the vaporiser, like this is an important, heavy decision he's trying to make and he really needs my help. Like deciding which phone to get today means anything at all, and all I feel is angry, kind of sad, way too warm. Because where was this agonizing indecision when it came to the two of us? Like, who am I gonna fuck today – my posh, rich wife or my suffering “boyfriend”, who likes it when I'm rough and sometimes cries when I leave? You're my only hope. I'm kind of shaking, a little, and blow smoke in his face, noticing suddenly how much extra weight he's put on these past few months, feeling pretty good about it, a little bit horny, as ever, angry – still, so warm, and I say: “Robert no offence but I really don't care, get whichever one you want,” and somehow, it doesn't sound like how I feel. The car is full with smoke and too warm, now, smurf blood smell mingling with the fish burger smell and the flashing image of the prawn cocktail crisps in my jacket pocket and I'm beginning to get overwhelmed. 

 

My heart beating against my ribcage, blood sugar drops, I'm sinking, still holding onto the vaporiser, smoke – everywhere, mist, and suddenly, cold air against my face, a window falling, smoke evaporating and a hand on mine. He says: “hey, you're okay,” and all I can do is nod, no words, and look over at him – same concern as before, like he's trying to decide on a new phone, and I dunno how I feel. I'm feeling really hungry now, and kind of stupid about the almost panic attack for no reason, and he's looking at his lap, hand still hovering over mine, not saying anything. 

 

I reach over for his banana milkshake, lift it to my lips and say: “can I have a sip?” without waiting for a reply before I put the straw between my lips and suck. He retroactively nods as I put the milkshake back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and says: “I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm trying.” You know, before him I'd never had a banana milkshake from McDonald's. Now they only kind of taste like him. He starts the car.

 

But doesn't accelerate straight away, just turns and stares at me, concerned, for fifteen seconds. We pull out of the McDonald's car park but I'm still so hungry; stare wistfully at the huge golden M illuminated in the sky behind us though the wing mirror – watching as it disappears into that heavy grey sky. 

 

“Get the Samsung,” I say.


End file.
